


rise together

by estel_willow, mandsangelfox



Series: Crash Into Me [1]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Fix-it fic, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Post 1x13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 09:16:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18736096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estel_willow/pseuds/estel_willow, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandsangelfox/pseuds/mandsangelfox
Summary: "Wait, wait- Back up, Guerin. Youdied?""I guess if that's what you call bleeding out on Max's floor after being stabbed in the neck by a broken syringe then yeah I died," Michael returns, casually, as if he hasn't just admitted todying. "It was a crazy night."





	rise together

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of the prompt: "I'm too sober for this" - Malex post 1x13 fix-it fic.

"I'm too sober for this," Alex mutters into the soda that's been sitting on the table in front of him for the last thirty minutes. Liz is across the table from him and staring at him intensely, trying to work out how to get him to talk about the things she can see whirring through his mind and Alex, quite pointedly, is Not Here For This. 

"Too sober for what?"

"The talk you want to have." He doesn't move when Liz looks offended. "Don't give me that look. There's nothing to talk about, Liz."

"Don't you even dare," she tells him, scowling at him from across the table. " _Michael Guerin_ is your Museum Guy - which you never told any of us - and aliens are real and you seem totally cool with that-" Alex's hand tightens around his glass and he draws a breath in through his nose though if that's because of the mention of aliens or Guerin he's not entirely sure, but Liz doesn't notice. "- and Max _died_ and then came back from the dead because of Isobel and Michael's other alien powers and-" 

"I get it," Alex interrupts, just so that she doesn't say Guerin's name again. Christ, he has to get better at being able to hear the man's name without wanting to carve his chest open to stop it from aching. "We have a lot of ground to cover." 

She looks like she's had a win, but Alex lifts the soda and waves it carefully in her direction. When she looks confused, he sips it and pulls a face.

"Too. Sober. You want to talk about _any_ of that crap, you'll give me alcohol first." 

Liz sighs heavily but gets to her feet. There's a small stash of alcohol behind the counter, not for customer use but for when she's closing up shop and has had A Day. She's got it in her hand, unscrewing the cap when the bell above the door dings and Alex spots her smile shift into something else entirely and he's not sure what it is until he hears her greet the newcomer and then he knows. He can feel it like a prickle up his spine.

_Guerin_.

"Mikey!" she says, bright and happy to see him. Alex is obscured by the booth he's sitting in but he still slouches a little like that's going to make him disappear. "Nice timing. I was just about to break out the vodka. You want a soda to go with it or are we drinking neat?"

Michael is also way too sober for this. Whatever this is. Liz called him saying the jukebox had been playing up so he’s grabbed his toolbox and driven over with the intention of fixing it but if the music playing is any indication then that was all a big lie, a ruse to get him here. To where Alex is. He hates how it hurts to see him and that’s one of the many reasons he’s been avoiding him.

“Nah, I’m good. I mean you said the jukebox was playing up and obviously it isn’t so I’m gonna,” he jerks his thumb towards the door.

Rationally he knows he and Alex need to talk but he has no idea where to start and if there’s any point because the last time he talked the other man ran in the opposite direction and the last time Alex had talked Michael had been distracted by the fact Noah was on the loose.

“Nope,” Liz runs forward and gets between herself and the door, reaching back behind herself to flick the lock. She knows he can un-flick it with his mind. But she hopes it’ll be enough to tell him she’s not letting this go. “Just go sit in the booth.”

“Liz,” Alex says and he shakes his head, sitting up and trying to flatten his hair from where it’s standing on end because he’s been running his hand through it. He leans out of the booth and wishes he hadn’t because Michael looks good, tired but good and Alex aches. “I get what you’re trying to do. But it-“

“It what?”

Michael tries not to look at how Alex’s hair is all over the place and resist the urge he has to bury his fingers in it, smooth it down and wrap his hands- Okay that is not helpful, not at all.

“It’s complicated,” Michael offers.

“It’s not, not really,” Alex replies, looking past Liz and to Michael. “Amongst other things, we aren’t on the same page.” His smile is a little sad, a little resigned. “I took too long.” He pauses, looks away from Michael and retreats into the safety of the booth. “Amongst other things.”

Liz stays between Michael and the door, one hand lifting to touch his chest, like that’ll keep him there. “Sounds to me like you two need to talk.”

Michael shifts, awkwardly, uncomfortably and desperate to escape. Mostly because he doesn't trust himself to spend too much time with Alex because it's not like he's been a saint. Far from it in fact. "I don't really... talk," Michael explains as he looks at the hand now placed on his chest, eyebrow arched. "I think you're getting me confused with Max."

"Talking isn't our strong suit," Alex agrees with a slightly wry smile, though neither of them can see it.

In front of Michael, Liz wrinkles her nose and keeps her hand on his chest, pushing insistently. "Well, since you guys can't do literally anything in here without giving the town an eyeful and my dad to spraying you with the soda hose, this is the perfect place."

She looks up at Michael, pushes him a little harder. "Plus I have vodka."

Michael's nose wrinkles as Liz pushes at his chest before he just arches an eyebrow at which point she's basically pushing at air and not actually at his chest. Alien powers totally equalled awesome thank you very much. "You're not taking no for an answer are you?"

"Nope," Liz responds, popping the 'p'. She rolls her eyes and calls him a cheat under her breath before she just wafts at the air in his direction and ushers him towards the booth that Alex is sitting in.

Alex shifts, folds his arms across his chest and then rests them on the table, slumping forward to rest his chin atop them, watching Michael and waiting to see what he does. He doesn't think Michael wants to talk to him and that's fine. It hurts, but he gets it. 

"Sit," Liz orders in her _I am not taking your shit_ tone. "I'm going to get you a glass and I'm going to give you both some vodka and then you are going to _talk_." 

"Liz," Alex tries, seeing the apprehension on Michael's face and he can just feel the way Michael wants to leave. 

She holds up a finger. "Nope. Michael, sit."

"You realise he's not a dog." 

Liz shrugs. "Yes, Alex, I’m aware he’s not a dog, but still. Into the booth."

Michael sighs and rolls his eyes before he finally closes the distance between himself, that booth, but more importantly, closing the distance between himself and _Alex_. He hasn't seen him since he lied to him about whose blood he was coated in and promising that they'd talk. They hadn't talked and that one was on Michael. Maybe he was afraid, scared of what would happen if they actually talked and laid it all on the line, worried that he'd find some way to fuck it up. He was good at that, fucking up.

He places his bag of tools on the leather beside him as he regards Alex, arms lifting to rest over the back of the booth in complete opposition to the other man's body language.

"This is your fault," he mutters softly but without heat, "she's your friend."

"I don't know," Alex replies lightly, one eyebrow arched. He hates how he wants to shift around the table to sit beside Michael, bask in the warmth that rolls off him like a firepit. It's like Alex has forgotten how to be warm without Michael pressed against him. He's been cold for what feels like forever, the icy chill of loneliness settled in his bones. "Literally everyone calls me Alex. You've got a special nickname. I'm willing to be this is _your_ fault."

"Nope," Michael replies with a shake of his head. "You met her first, became her friend first, this is clearly your fault." And in spite of himself, he gives a small smile though he dislikes how his fingers itch to reach out and to touch. He'd never been particularly tactile with anyone outside of well, Isobel, but Alex had always been the exception to all his rules, all his barriers, all his guards and everything else he's put in place just to survive in a world determined to ruin him.

Alex snorts, fingers pushing through his hair in lieu of sinking his fingers into Michael's curls. His own hair is an exceedingly poor substitute. His jacket's on the seat beside him and he suddenly longs for the reassuring pressure over his shoulders, the weight that acts like anxiety relief. 

"Liz Ortecho," she says, appearing beside the table with a tall glass for Michael, "is not the topic of discussion here." 

"Are you gonna give us topic cards?" Alex asks, sitting up to turn and look at her, that eyebrow lifting again and she just looks at him flatly, unimpressed with the sarcastic tone to his voice. "So we know what topics are and aren't allowed."

Michael bites his lower lip and glances away because he knows if he looks he's going to chuckle and he definitely does not think that would be appreciated. He's a lot of things but idiot is not one of those things. He clears his throat and just flexed his hands around the leather of the booth.

"I suppose just drinking is outta the question?" He asks, in mock-seriousness as he tips his head to regard Liz.

"Drinking and words," Liz says, the finger of one hand held up as she adds vodka to Alex's soda and then just pouring Michael half a glass. She disappears briefly and then comes back with a half-empty container of nail polish remover. "It's all I've got within easy reach," she tells him apologetically, fingers still curled around the chilled vodka bottle.

Alex lets out a breath and leans forward to take the vodka bottle out of her hand. "I'll replace it."

"Uh huh," Liz deadpans. She waves her hand between the two of them. "Talk. I'll be back in a bit." 

Michael gives Liz a tight smile of gratitude as he takes the half-empty bottle of nail polish remover and liberally poured it into his glass before taking his first healthy swallow.

And with that, having watched Michael down a swig of acetone-laced vodka, she leaves and Alex and Michael are left alone, sitting opposite each other in a place they both haunted as teenagers but never at the same time.

Michael clears his throat, shifts awkwardly, sniffs and then finally leans forward so he's less set back and a little more open in his body language. It's as close to saying 'I'm willing' as Michael Guerin ever gets but then he'd never been exactly shy with saying how he felt around Alex.

"So I lied to you," he finally says after a much longer moment of prolonged painful silence. "That night in my trailer. About the blood and it not being mine. It was and I was- I dunno, Max brought me back and I wasn't really myself and neither was he which is why he healed my hand and I think some of what he was feeling must've carried over to me because I couldn't think straight." Literally, figuratively and metaphorically. Honestly, he has no idea what he's trying to say.

Alex's eyebrows lift and he sits up a little, not quite mimicking Michael's position but it's close. 

"I- I had a feeling you were-" he stops, the words stumbling over his lips. They feel heavy and wrong and it doesn't really feel like it matters anyway. Whatever was happening was something Alex hadn't been a part of and the following day had made it clear that he was too late. 

He rubs his hand over his face and then through his hair. He's got a silver ring on his index finger and he twists it in something that's almost become a nervous habit. 

"Wait, wait- Back up, Guerin. You _died_?"

"I guess if that's what you call bleeding out on Max's floor after being stabbed in the neck by a broken syringe then yeah I died," Michael returns, casually, as if he hasn't just admitted to _dying_. "It was a crazy night."

"Fuck, Michael," Alex says, his voice catching and his brows crumpling up his forehead. He moves like he wants to reach out but isn't sure if it's welcome or not. His hand falls to his glass instead and he takes more than a couple of large mouthfuls. "That's one way of putting it." He wants to feel angry about the flippant way Michael talks about the night that resulted in Max’s death, Rosa’s rebirth, Noah’s obliteration and, apparently, Michael’s death too? But he understands the use of black humour better than most and can’t find it in himself to be anything approaching upset when worry twists at his insides instead.

Michael runs his thumb over the knuckles on his left hand and is still taken aback at how smooth the journey is because he's gone so long with feeling twisted knots of badly healed bone and subsequent scar tissue that it still surprises him that it's no longer there. It still hurts but he can play the guitar, something he has not been able to do for so long it's almost like he's regrown a limb, no pun intended.

"What I'm trying to say," he starts as he glances up and wets his lower lip, "I meant to come back but- I just- I was trying to deal with a lot of stuff and clearly I suck at that."

Alex shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head. "I get it, Guerin." His smile's small and hollow and he leans back against the booth. And he does. He can't look at himself - though he's getting better - and whatever Michael did - and where he went because Alex knows - he did for his own reasons and Alex can't be mad at him for that. 

Not when he's walked away so many times it makes sense that Michael might not believe him when he says he wants to stay. 

"Besides, it's complicated, right?" His words aren't unkind, but if that's how Michael feels about them it's fair that they cover it.

Michael watches Alex closely from beneath his lashes, reading his body language as a withdrawal from the conversation in the close proximity that they had been so he reflects, mirrors, but takes his drink with him as he swallows a few mouthfuls. "Yeah, complicated." He nods and rests his glass back down on the table.

Not that the thing with him and Maria got that far, not after that first kiss, not after he realised she didn't actually quieten all the noise in his head.

"I don't want to be a complication," Alex says, holding his glass above the table, thinking about sipping from it and instead just placing it down, tracing a finger through the condensation on the surface. He draws a circle with three lines coming out of it, three circles atop those lines. He's doodled it a few times over the last couple of months. 

He meets Michael's eyes, noticing that he's drawn back and not entirely sure why. "You've had enough of those."

Michael exhales and flexes his hands around the leather of the booth as he's again stretched his arms out before he wonders if he was to leave right now would Liz even notice? He flicks his tongue over his lower lip and then pulls it into his mouth where he worries it with his mouth.

"That's my life in a nutshell, complicated."

Alex has watched Michael's face for long enough to know when he's heard something he doesn't like. He watches the way his eyes flick across Alex and to the door before his attention's back on Alex and he swallows.

He shakes his head, hating that Michael's so far away that he can't even grab his hand. In lieu of that, he leans forward and braces his arms on the table. 

"I want to be someone you _want_ to be around. Not someone that-" he catches himself and scrubs his hand over his face, thumb brushing over his lower lip. "I don't want to be someone it's hard for you to be around, Guerin."

It would be easy. To use the fact that Alex is related to Jesse Manes to put a permanent end to this dance they've been doing for years. Real easy. Alex stirs feelings in Michael that he's never really come to terms with or dealt with in any productive way but then it's hard when the object of your affection spends more time looking at you in the rear view mirror as they drive away.

"You never use my name, you ever notice that?" He challenges, completely off topic and subject.

Alex sits up a little straighter, confusion flickering across his face. "I use your name," he retorts. Because he does, when he talks to Kyle and Maria (though that stings a bit). He used Michael's name when he had talked to his father. He knows Michael's name and he uses it. 

But- but now he thinks about it, he's called Michael 'Guerin' when the name's spilled off of his lips. _Guerin_ is a shield against everything Alex feels but doesn't know how to process, _can't_ process because if he does and accepts the reality of how badly him wanting and loving has screwed up Michael's life it's a slope he could never come back from. _Guerin_ is his equivalent to a red dress and red lipstick. _Guerin_ is his armour. 

"...huh."

Michael's still and quiet as he watches Alex process what Michael just said to him before he seems to come to the same conclusion as Michael, he uses Guerin more than he uses Michael, it's always been that way. Michael, on the other hand, uses Alex's name a lot and only ever calls him by anything else when he's looking to hurt and he's done that more than he cares to admit.

"I don't see your dad by the way," he finally shares with a lift of his shoulders. "When I look at you."

Alex's shoulders stiffen and his gaze drops away from Michael, from what he knows could possibly be that brutal, broken honesty that pours of out of every part of Michael whenever the mood takes him. Alex feels like Michael has two moods; sarcasm and sharp edges that cut with the tiniest of touches and soul-wrenching openness and honesty that causes truths to spill from his lips like water cascading recklessly over a waterfall. 

"I wouldn't blame you if you did," he breathes, teeth catching on his lower lip before he goes back to twisting the ring on his index finger. He glances up, almost afraid to meet Michael's gaze because he figures the next thing out of Michael's mouth will be what he _does_ see and Alex doesn't know if he can hear that. If he's _worth_ what'll come next. 

He swallows and washes the bitterness he feels about his family legacy away with a swig of his drink. "You know he's in a coma."

It would have if Alex hadn't mentioned how his dad is in a coma, Michael's brow furrows. "A coma? What happened?" Not that he cares, not really. That man could rot in hell for all he cares but even that might be too nice of a fate for a monster like him. Slow torture was definitely preferable.

Alex shrugs. "He tried to kill Kyle. Kyle's smarter than he was given credit for." He waves a hand. "That's not- that's not really relevant right now." He lets out a soft laugh. 

He takes in a breath, slow and deep and holds it for two seconds, using that time to make himself meet Michael's eyes before he lets the breath out again. It's grounding. 

Michael is reluctant at first to meet Alex's gaze because he knows he's fucked if he does that. Alex holds this power over him that is as he once said _cosmic_ and it's scary but at the same time exhilarating. He wasn't lying when he said to Isobel that it feels like he's always crash landing when he comes back round to Alex but that's another time, another place, another... them. 

Should he let himself hope that this time will be different? That Alex won't turn tail and run when things get tough or too much?

"I miss you, Gu- _Michael._." The words feel like a confession and Alex feels like a part of him is open and vulnerable and he’s watching, waiting for Michael to look at him. It’s agonising, watching the honey-hazel gaze fixing anywhere but on him.

Michael swallows hard and shifts to rest back against the table so there isn't as much distance between them and he finally meets Alex's gaze. "Yeah, I uh- I miss you too."

Alex feels his throat go dry, hope flaring like wildfire across his chest and he can't breathe for a moment. His lips twitch up in the corners before he can school his expression into something calmer though he guesses he should stop doing that. It isn't like he can easily hide the way he feels his whole body responding to just being near Michael. 

"Where do you want to go from here?" he asks, not looking away. He understands, now, that maybe he and Michael have been on the same page for a while, just neither of them truly realised it.

Honestly? He has no idea. It's not like either of them have had good role models of what a relationship should be so it's no wonder it's taken them a long time to get their shit together. "I suppose my trailer's out of the question," he mutters, small smirk playing across his lips though he counters it with a reach across the table and a closing of his fingers around one of Alex's hands.

"No, it's not _out_ of the question but I'm not sure it's a wise idea." In spite of the seriousness of the conversation, Alex laughs. He wets his lower lip and almost meets Michael halfway, his fingers catching Michael's and his gaze drops to look at the smooth skin and straight fingers. "He really healed it, huh," he murmurs, his other hand lifting to trace along the now blemish-free skin. He shakes his head. It's good, it's a good thing. Michael doesn't need the reminder. Not when he has enough from everything else to keep him up at night. 

He tips his head, squeezes Michael's fingers. "Though I didn't mean-"

"Yeah, he really did," Michael answers with a nod of his head. He still can't quite believe that it happened especially as he hadn't wanted him to but now that he had and he could play the guitar again he doesn't hate it nearly as much as he thought he would. "I can play again."

"Dios mio," they hear from the kitchen where Liz has unobtrusively been cleaning up and listening in. "Go on a date." 

"Nobody asked you, Liz," Alex retorts, though he doesn't let go of Michael's hand. "Though, that's not a bad idea." 

"I know!" 

" _Liz._ "

Michael throws a look in the direction of Liz who was out of sight but clearly still eavesdropping, go figure. "It's rude to listen in on conversations that aren't yours," he yells.

"It's not my fault you two are reconnecting wrong," Liz shoots back, appearing in the serving window with a greasy spatula in her hand that she points at them. Her brows are furrowed in frustration with them and she looks ready to come and smack them around the head with her utensil. "I did not keep the lights on this long past closing for you two to not actually talk." 

"We are talking, Liz," Alex says patiently. "Neither of us is Max Evans." 

"You can say that again," she huffs and disappears again.

He sighs heavily and returns his attention to Michael, realising he's still holding the guy's hand and he wets his lower lip, trying to work out if he needs to pull his hand away. "You- uh- you said you're playing again?"

Michael rolls his eyes at Liz's insistence that they're reconnecting wrong as though she's somehow the authority on it. He exhales a breath and regards their still joined hands which honestly he never thought would happen given how reluctant Alex has been to show physical affection in public where everybody can see them.

"Uh, yeah, " he says with a nod. "I can finally quieten all the noise and shit in my head."

Alex nods his head. "That's- that's really good." He tries to smile but he thinks it falls short as his mind supplies an unwanted image of Michael sitting at the Pony, playing the guitar for Maria as she sways along and cleans the bar. He wets his lower lip and squeezes Michael's fingers again before withdrawing, though he doesn't lean back. His hand drops to his thigh, kneading the muscles that have bunched up in a physical response to the aching in his soul. 

"If you've not got yourself a guitar yet, I've probably got one you can have." He hasn't played in years. He doesn't think he'd still know how. He thinks maybe the part of him that was able to make music was shattered on the desert sands. "Must be nice?"

Michael flexes the hand that Alex had been holding and curls his fingers in towards the palm of his hand as he tries to dispel the tingles that the other man's touch leaves behind. "You'd think I would have gotten one after all this time but never have." He smirks slightly before he just wets his lower lip and pulls it into his mouth.

"You okay?" He asks, noting a slight look of pain on Alex's face.

Alex looks up at the wrong time and his gaze drops to Michael's lips. He feels himself leaning forward slightly, his _whole being_ reacting to that simple gesture and if Alex had ever tried to convince himself that he was over this bullshit he's just proven himself entirely wrong. 

"You can have one of mine," he says before he even thinks about it, and then he drags his eyes up to meet Michael's. He swallows, takes a long mouthful of his drink and nods his head. "Yeah, fine." He pauses, adding a second later so that it doesn't feel like he's pushing Michael away because that's what he's doing and he knows it, "It's just- been a long day. It aches still after being on it for more than eight hours."

Michael frowns when Alex admits that his leg is acting up and hurting him. He reaches out with his power without thinking and lets it move over the leg in question in slow methodical circles as if his hands are on Alex. Definitely some perks to being an alien and if he can help then why wouldn't he?

Alex's breath catches and his hands drop to curl around the fabric of the seat, feeling the leather creak underneath his grip. He schools his expression into something remotely calm and hopes that Michael hasn't seen the impact that action had on him before he managed to sort himself out. It feels good, but he knows Michael's actual hands would feel better. 

It isn't fair. Michael's not allowed to do nice, kind things like this with his powers. He's not supposed to do these things that make Alex fall in love with him again when he's supposed to be moving on with his life. 

"Thanks," Michael says with a small smile as though he’s not using his powers to dig invisible fingers into the tense muscles of Alex’s thigh like a helpful lover. "I'd like that."

"You don't have to, you know," Alex manages, wetting his lower lip and catching it with his teeth. "I- Yeah, I can drop it off for you or something. The guitar, I mean."

"Is it helping?" He challenges, eyebrow lifted. "Because if it is then I'm gonna keep doing it but if it isn't," he sat back and lifted his shoulders into a shrug. "Yeah, swing by the airstream or I can come to you. Whatever." Not that he'd ever seen Alex's place as the other man had kept that part of his life very separate.

"You know it is," Alex says softly, looking away and down at the table, trying to release his grip on the leather. He tips his head back, resting against the padded back and wets his lower lip, a slow drag of his tongue and he shrugs his shoulders. 

He can hear the question that Michael's afraid to ask and he wonders if this is the olive branch that Michael needs from him to understand where Alex is right now, what Alex _wants_ , even if Michael’s still not ready, even if Michael’s still on a different page. 

"You can come to mine, if you want."

Michael desperately tries not to let himself hope but he can't stop the way his eyes light up and the tension he's been holding on for ten years all but drains from his face. 

"Yeah, I'd like that," he says with a nod. "Now or later?"

Alex's chest constricts and he forces himself to swallow. "Whenever you've got time," he answers. Because _now now now_ is tripping off his tongue and Alex has never been the desperate type, even if there's something about Michael that makes him feel that way.

"Is now good?" Michael asks simply because it literally is that simple. It always has been for him where Alex is concerned, even if he’s tried to make it more complicated, even when life has made it painful. 

Alex eyes the glass on the table in front of him and mentally calculates how much he's had to drink versus how tired he was to make sure he could drive. He only hesitates for half a second before he nods his head. There's a momentum here and he'd be lying if he said that he wasn't afraid it would shatter if they stopped moving. 

"Now's good."

Michael catches his lower lip and smiles in spite of himself before he nods, gets to his feet, and slips his hat back into place because it had come off during his conversation with Alex as it always did. It was rare he kept that hat on his head whenever he was around Alex, it just naturally came off.

"Let's do this."

Alex carefully slides out of the booth, snagging his jacket as he does, and he sees Liz throwing a double thumbs up at him which makes him laugh softly. He looks back at Michael, seeing him smiling and it makes Alex's own widen in cautious optimism. 

It feels like a beginning, and Alex feels hope bubble in his chest, stealing his breath and making him feel like he's flying.


End file.
